


the Swordsman and the God

by golden_circuitry



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, I'll write more tf2 stuff later. I think. Allegedly. Don't quote me on it, Other, This is a one off thing I wrote in one sitting at like 3am, i just think casual gods could be a neat concept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_circuitry/pseuds/golden_circuitry
Summary: There once was a blighted village, and there once was a boy.





	the Swordsman and the God

There once was a blighted village, cursed to always reap too small a harvest, and to always starve through half the winter.  
And in that blighted village, all the children were raised to be farmers and devotees to the Harvest God, in hopes that one day they would thrive through a winter.  
The town lived like this, for many generations, so desperately trying to preserve their livelihoods, praying for the response of the harvest god.  
Through none of those generations had they ever heard a response, until one day, the harvest god herself stood on the mountaintops above the small village, and belted,  
" If you're really so desperate for more harvest, _prove it!_ Teach the least gifted child among your ranks a trade you haven't practiced in centuries! Teach them the discipline of true suffering, if you really care so much! "  
Naturally, the village was astonished at her decree. The townspeople had looked from person to person, left entirely awestruck, even as the goddess had vanished yet again, and her holy glow had ceased to permeate the air.  
To start, none of the townspeople had truly wanted to admit _their_ child as the least skilled in all the town, and crammed in the town square, the villagers had milled around, holding tightly to their children - until a modest woman near the front had held up her child for all to see, a frightened little boy of barely nine.  
" I volunteer my son! " She shouted, feeling nothing short of divine as the town collectively thanked her for her sacrifice, clearing as to surround her sun in a circle, now debating the second issue on hand.  
'I say we train him in the smiths,' one townsperson replied, before another reminded him it had to be something no longer practiced. Another offered to train them in cartography, before being reminded that it isn't truly a discipline. After countless hours more of bickering, an old man had shouted, ' _Swordsmanship_ is a discipline! Now can we _please_ do anything more productive?'  
The town had collectively quieted at the old man's suggestion, before murmuring agreements among themselves.  
So, seeing the lack of choices they _truly_ had, the townspeople had gone through the library and taken out every book they had of the arts of weaponry.  
And, ever scared, but filled with new purpose, the boy studied. He had spent every last hour, from dawn to dusk and then a few more, studying every last book he could hold, often watched by curious housewives and disbelieving elders.  
Though, as years passed, and he grew, the boy ceased to garner the same attentions he had on that night he had been chosen.  
By the time the boy was almost ready, his voice had grown gruff from lack of use, and his hair had grown unkempt, for no one was willing to stay and cut it for him.  
That didn't discourage the boy, though. He had been chosen for the holiest of tasks alone, and eventually, he was ready to show his skills off to the town that treasured him so dearly.  
The boy stood in the center of the town's square, showing off the grace of his motions, but to his dismay, barely a soul had granted him a glance.  
The boy was heartbroken, before quickly deciding that _no_. The town had _not_ forgotten him. He simply had to refine his skills further somewhere else! Of course, _that must be the issue._  
And, with no time to waste, lest he allow another brutal winter to take place, the boy had gathered all the supplies he could, and he had taken his perfectly polished sword, and he set out for the next village.  
But, the boy had never been taught how to navigate on his own. And, the boy had never been outside the village alone before.  
So, naturally, the boy had become lost, quickly becoming disoriented in the wide-open fields.  
The boy had not given up, though! He had continued to walk, until his supplies had nearly run out.  
And, eventually, he saw a temple. One for a god he didn't recognize.  
Desperate for a rest and nearing the very edge of his stamina, the boy had all but collapsed next to the altar, setting his sword upon it as he kneeled in front of it, begging for _anything_ that would help.  
And, of course, with the boy so honestly speaking at the altar, and with the boy praying oh-so loudly, the god had heard.  
The hearing god had listened, too, stepping down from the heavens to see the boy more clearly.  
And, seeing the mistreatment written so clearly on the boy's soul, the god couldn't help but assist, quietly sitting on the altar and waiting for the boy to notice him. And, after many moments the boy did- so startled by his presence that he nearly fell backwards off the temple itself.  
" Woah now, partner! " The god grinned, almost laughing as he reached out to hold the boy. " We can't have you breaking anything _now_ of all times! "  
The boy stared blankly for a moment, absolutely enraptured with the light and the warmth of the second god that had ever seen him as important. " Who are you? "  
" Just some god. " The god had drawled, slowly letting go of the boy. " The same as any other, really. "  
And the rough-voiced boy stared for a moment longer, before stuttering, " Please- can you help- with my swordsmanship? I need it to _save_ my village. "  
And the god stared, knowing _that's_ not what he's ever been needed for before. Though, _what the hell!_ he figures. It's not like he has anything to lose.  
So the god agrees to teach the boy, and the boy, absolutely ecstatic, becomes only the most perfect of students.  
Teaching from example, and being able to truly guide the boy through the maneuvers proves to be the best whetstone for sharpening the boy's skills, and it isn't too long before the god sees it fit to decree the Chosen Boy to be the Swordsman.  
Despite being the swordsman now, though, the swordsman does not forget his purpose. Now that he's truly ready, and approved by a _god_ of all things, he longs to return home, to free his people from their plight.  
And, knowing this, the god offers him one final trial.

The swordsman and the god start their walk at dawn, still in the opposite direction of the village, into the vastest plain of wildflowers the god could possibly have to offer.  
The swordsman follows close behind, unquestioning in their purpose here, fully trusting in the god, a loyal devotee to his very core.  
Around midday, the god stops suddenly, in the exact center of the field, so far out not even trees were close enough to serve as a landmark for where they are.  
The god turns to the swordsman, and places his ever-warm hands on the swordsman's shoulders, stating simply. " It's almost winter. "  
And the gruff-voiced swordsman nods, swallowing thickly as he shifts his sword from hand to hand, always mindful not to nick either of them.  
" And.. " The god starts, with such seriousness the swordsman stops fidgeting. " I know how to save your village. "  
The swordsman grins, though, replying, " Of course you do. You already have! I'm strong enough to show the Harvest Goddess, _surely_ , and I have you to thank for it! "  
The god winces, though, and shakes his head. " No, that alone will not save it. Just as worship alone would not save an army from an attacker. "  
The swordsman pauses, meeting the god's eyes now, dread creeping into his features. " So... what will? "  
The god pauses, before sighing quietly. It has to be done, after all.

" You have to kill me. "

The swordsman immediately recoils, dropping his sword onto the damp earth as he backpedals. " _No!_ I couldn't do that to you, _my_ god- "  
" Of course you can. " The god interjects, picking up the sword. " And you will, really. There ain't another way about it, now. "  
" S-surely, this isn't it. Surely there's something you've overlooked-! " The swordsman cries out, distressed the sun had the gall to be so painfully joyous in a moment like _this_.  
" I'm afraid not. " The god states, offering the handle of the sword to the swordsman, unflinching, even as the blade cuts into his hands and stains them with golden blood. " And, even if there was, there certainly ain't time for it _now_. "  
The boy winces, hesitantly taking the sword again, shifting on his feet. " .. Why..? "  
And the god grins, having missed telling this story. " On the shortest day of the year of the Forsaken, the Harvest Goddess must be offered a sacrifice so brutal, so _beautiful_ , that her cold heart thaws, and allows the people to thrive again. "  
The boy pauses, staring at the god's hands, still dripping blood onto the floor.  
" You must water the soil with my blood. " The god concludes, simply, and sensing the boy's hesitance, he drawls, " You've already proven your devotion. Go on, boy. I promise I won't be mad. "  
" You promise? " The boy asks, his eyes teary as the god straightens the collar of his shirt.  
" I _promise_. " The god replies, his eyes still trained on the Swordsman's.  
The blow comes swift, and strikes exactly true, piercing the god’s heart exactly as the god had taught the Swordsman.  
The Swordsman sits beside the dead god, and simply watches the sky, waiting until it was nearly dusk to return; only leaving his god's side because he didn't want to become lost yet again, and risk losing the temple as well.  
The mourning boy steps into the temple just after nightfall, setting his once-used blade beside the altar, sitting exactly where the god once did, when he first protected him.  
And, for the longest night of the boy's life, he grieved. He watched as the golden blood coating his blade slowly lost its glow, and he mourned - for he had struck down the only person he had truly understood as loving him.  
The boy looked up at stars, longing so deeply for everything to be okay now, if only for his sacrifice.  
And, eventually, dawn came, as blindingly bright as always.  
And, the gruff-voiced boy watched the sunrise, quietly confessing,

" I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do this without you. "

And the Swordsman stood, and turned to leave, his blade left behind as payment for what he'd done.

And, in the same wonderfully warm tone as always, the god stepped down from the heavens, and chastised, " You better be. I've only just started loving your voice, y'know. "


End file.
